


Meleth Nin

by LittleLucy



Series: Lucy's Middle-Earth [8]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Erthor lives, F/M, Fix-It, Fixing my own fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLucy/pseuds/LittleLucy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(My Love)</p><p>What if Smaug hadn't killed Erthor? What would have been different in Lucy's life if Erthor had lived?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story, although a part of Lucy's Middle-Earth, did not actually happen in the canon of Lucy's Middle-Earth. That might seem confusing, but bear with me. This is simply a "what if" story. It is, in reality, a fanfiction of my own fanfiction. This is the "what if" that might have happened to Lucy if Erthor had actually survived.
> 
> This story is dedicated to Emily, who bugged me until I gave in and wrote it :D
> 
> I'm not promising this story will be updated as frequently as the others (and we all know the others are not updated all that frequently) but I wanted to get the first chapter up so that I'd have some sort of incentive to write the rest.
> 
> The title of this story is "my love" in Sindarin. If, however, my word choice or translation is incorrect I am most happy to be corrected by a true authority and given a better/more correct word/translation.

 

A deep chuckle that bounced off of the stone walls and ceiling came from the dragon and then he spoke. "What is this? A tiny little human come to challenge me? Is this the best your race can do?"

His laughter filled the room, and filled Lucy's stomach with a sick feeling. She was frozen. She couldn't move.

"Lucy!" Was that Erthor's voice she heard?

And then suddenly the dragon's head came zooming toward her, his teeth snapping. Lucy dove underneath his mouth as it reached her. He raised himself up and looked at her curiously. "You know you can't run, you pathetic little creature."

Lucy looked up, up, up until she could see his eyes. He chuckled again. "You are a silent one, aren't you? Too afraid to speak to me?"

Afraid? That wasn't who Lucy was. She struggled to pull herself together. She was the valiant one.

"I am not afraid." The calm in her voice surprised both her and the dragon.

"You should be." He was coming at her again. She leaped away from his head with plenty of time to spare, because this time she was ready.

Or so she thought.

His teeth were only a distraction. As Lucy leaped away from them she ran right into his giant claws. The pain that ripped through her side was worse than anything she'd ever felt in her life. And then she was flying across the room. The walls and the treasure all seemed to spin around and around. Was she falling or flying upwards?

Then suddenly she hit the wall with a loud crunch.

"Lucy!" That was definitely Erthor.

She hit the floor with another thud. The dragon came forward to finish her off with one large bite. But as he came near to her with his mouth open, an Elf dragging himself along the floor carrying mangle legs behind him came from somewhere nearby and pushed Lucy out of the way. The dragons teeth found their way around his legs and he cried out involuntarily. His legs had already been mashed and mangled from when he'd been trying to protect a little dwarf girl and the dragon had managed to step on him. Now Erthor was almost convinced he had no legs left.

This however, was not the case. Which became very clear when pain went searing through his legs and he almost blacked out. 

Smaug reared back when an arrow hit his eye and dropped Erthor, who hit the ground rather painfully.

Legolas was suddenly there, bending over Lucy and looking at Erthor with a distraught expression. He didn't know who to rescue.

Erthor took one look at Lucy, taking in all the blood that seemed to be pouring from every body part she possessed, then he gasped out, "Take her. Get her out."

Legolas scooped Lucy into his arms and made a dash for the door.

Erthor steeled himself for what was coming next. Smaug was going to eat him.

Smaug's massive head came into his line of sight. He stopped over Erthor, smiling in a rather sickly dragonish way. "Oh, you are delicious, my little pest. Much better than those Dwarves."

Erthor didn't bother responding to that sentiment.

He closed his eyes. Lucy was safe. His people had come to help the Dwarves. He could die in peace.

Suddenly Smaug was roaring in pain and Erthor opened his eyes in time to see Thranduil removing his sword from Smaug's eye.

Then strong arms wrapped around his torso and he was being half carried half dragged up the steps toward the door out of the Treasury.

"Frerin..." Erthor managed to groan. This was probably the least pleasant experience of his entire life.

But then Thranduil was there, lifting him gently into his arms and hurrying away from the Treasury and the Dragon.

"Stay with us, Erthor," Frerin pleaded as they ran from the Mountain.

Thranduil soon caught up with his people. Many of his best healers were busy about Lucy, who was still unconscious and also still bleeding profusely in various places. But as soon as they saw their King two or three of them moved to assist Erthor.

"You can help him, can't you?" Frerin gasped out when he finally caught up. Keeping up with a running Elf was not an easy thing to do.

"We will do our best," Thranduil told him. 

Erthor could feel sleep coming over him, gentle and peaceful, induced by one or other of the healers. He didn't fight it. He wasn't sure he wanted to be awake for whatever it was the healers were going to do to him. His last conscious thought was that he desperately hoped his legs could be saved. It would be very hard to keep up with Lucy if he couldn't walk.


	2. Chapter 2

The warmth and peacefulness was fading. Erthor was trying to hang onto the last remnant of it as he came into full consciousness. He failed to cling to that soft sleep, and he desperately wished he hadn't. 

He could have sworn his legs were on fire.

He clamped his teeth together to keep from groaning, but despite his best efforts a low moan escaped his lips.

Erthor felt gentle hands on his head, and then all he could feel was the soft, sweet, peaceful feeling.

The next time he awoke, he groaned before he could stop himself. His legs still felt like they were burning. But this time, he had more control over his senses. He could hear the hushed voices of the healers as they discussed the progress of his healing, and he could hear somewhere nearby the breathing of his Prince.

Erthor managed to open his eyes and winced at the bright light that assaulted him. He closed his eyes quickly, and groaned again.

One of the healers, Maerdir, laid a gentle hand upon his forehead. 

But this time, Erthor fought the anesthetic. Maerdir sighed. "I wondered how long that was going to last. Erthor, you need to rest. It will be easier to do so when you are not aware of the pain in your legs."

Erthor gritted his teeth. He wanted to speak, but the effort was painful. Finally, he rasped out, "Lucy."

"She is the room beside yours," Maerdir said softly. "We are doing what we can for her. Her wounds are quite extensive. As of yet, she not awoken. Not since we left Erebor."

Erebor. But it would have taken a couple weeks to travel back to the Woodland Realm. Had she been unconscious the whole time? Lucky her, Erthor thought with a tiniest hint of a smile. He'd been fully aware of the pain he was suffering.

Okay, so maybe "fully aware" wasn't truly accurate, but he had noticed more than once that he was in a great deal of agony during the ride back to the Woodland Realm.

"I see that smile," Maerdir said with satisfaction. "Good, good. Tunir, our patient is improving."

"Very good. Yet even so, he needs more rest."

"I know. But you try soothing this stubborn elf into oblivion. He's been fighting it the last ten minutes and succeeding."

"That is very good," Tunir replied. "Perhaps we will get him through this,"

"If only the same could be said for Lucy," 

This last statement was spoken very low and quietly and Erthor, in his drowsly and pained state barely caught it. But he did hear it, and he forced his eyes open again. Blinking rapidly to ease his stinging eyes, Erthor glanced to his right. Maerdir, Tunir, and Taranir were standing together, still speaking in hushed voices. He was in one of the healing rooms in the lower levels of the caves that housed Thranduil's people.

There was no one but himself and the healers in the room. But Erthor had been sure he'd heard the Prince breathing. Closing his eyes and trying concentrate around the burning sensation in his legs, Erthor listened. Yes, he could definitely hear Legolas.

He must be in the next room over, where Maerdir had said Lucy was being kept. Trying to concentrate even further, straining to hear Lucy, Erthor was giving himself a headache. Maerdir returned, placing his hand on Erthor's forehead again. 

"This time, I am brooking no arguments. Off you go now. The waking world will still be here when you return."

Erthor could feel himself fading again. He didn't want to. He needed to hear Lucy! He had to know she was alright.

But the pain was easing out of his awareness, and that was something Erthor didn't want to fight. Slowly, the world faded out of his senses.

When Erthor awoke again, his mind was sharper. He could distinctly hear Maerdir sighing nearby and hear Legolas and Thranduil breathing in the room to his left. There were others in that room. Not Elves, either. How many humans were there in the Woodland Realm?

Erthor opened his eyes, concentrating. Two, three, four...

Maerdir looked up from where he was poring over a book on healing. "Ah, Erthor, you are awake. And doing much better, by the look of you. I am glad. This last week as been a challenge. What with you fighting treatment and Lucy...well, Lucy refusing to wake up."

"Is she still unconscious?" Erthor asked.

"Very much so, despite its being nearly three weeks since she was wounded. Her wounds are healing ever so slowly, but that is not what worries me. It is the fact that she remains in that comatose state that has me feeling anxious. Nothing will get through to her, not our remedies, not even the appearance of her family has been able to rouse her."

"Her family! Is that who is breathing so heavily in the room next door?"

"Yes, her family arrived a few days ago."

"That will make her happy,"

"Indeed. If she ever wakes up and notices them." Maerdir sighed, and Erthor could tell he was extremely worried. "But enough talking, Erthor. You are still very weak and need time to continue your healing."

"Don't-" Erthor began, and Maerdir interrupted.

"I will refrain from doing so only if you promise to lay there quietly and rest. If you are stubborn however and refuse to follow my directions I have no qualms sending you back into oblivion"

Erthor nodded silently. His legs, though still aching, no longer felt like they were buried in the fires of Mount Doom. The dull ache was just enough to assure him that he still had legs, which was a great relief. He still didn't know how badly injured his legs were or if he'd be able to use them properly. But Maerdir was a great healer, one of the best, and had even gone to Rivendell for a few hundred years to study under Lord Elrond, so Erthor was confident that his healing would be complete. For the rest of the day not so much as a peep escaped him.

But in the middle of the night when Thranduil's Halls were filled with peaceful silence, he let out a horrifying, blood-curdling scream.


	3. Chapter 3

In the eerie silence that followed that scream, Peter Pevensie cautiously stepped towards the door of Lucy's room, his sword in his hand.

Edmund watched him, his own sword laid across his knees. "Be careful, Pete."

Susan still slept soundly but Eustace was sitting up, staring around with a rather confused expression on his face. Lucy hadn't stirred.

Peter inched his way into the hallway, not making a sound. The silence was being broken however. He could hear Elves talking rather quickly (something he hadn't heard many of them do up to this point) and he was sure the healers were coming to check on their patient. When, a moment later, three healers appeared at the end of the hall with extremely worried expressions Peter sheathed his sword.

But he kept his hand on the hilt, just in case.

The Elves saw him and moved just a bit faster. "What is the matter?" One of them asked, one with bright red hair.

"I do not know," Peter replied. "I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary yet."

The three Elves quickly disappeared into Erthor's room. Peter moved to stand in the doorway. The Elf on the bed at the far end of the room looked pale. Even more pale than Elves usually did (and Peter was convinced Elves were far too pale to begin with).

One of the healers, the one with dark brown hair, was shaking his head and another, the red haired one, was at a table hurriedly mixing some sweet smelling herbs.

The third, who had hair nearly black, had his hand on the sick Elf's forehead, his eyes closed, murmuring softly in the language of the Elves words that Peter did not understand. The paleness of the sick Elf seemed to lessen, and when the red haired Elf at the table brought over whatever remedy he'd just made and the three elves stood around the sick Elf to apply it (effectively blocking Peter's view of what they were doing), Peter heard the sick Elf suddenly breathe deeply.

"That is better," the red haired healer said quietly. 

"Do we let him sleep and inquire tomorrow, or wake him completely and get our answers tonight?" The blonde one asked.

"This was too sudden, too unexpected," the black haired healer muttered, starting to pace. "He is healing properly. His wounds should not have given him any trouble, not enough to cause that outburst."

"But he was clearly exhausted beyond his strength when we arrived," the the red haired healer responded.

The three of them looked at one another in quiet contemplation.

And then a voice spoke. A very deep, earthy voice. It boomed into the room and bounced off the walls. And yet it spoke quietly, gently, as though it were no more than a whispering wind. Peter recognized the voice immediately, at the same moment that he saw a familiar face come into view. The Lion was standing at the end of the sick Elf's bed.

"You can blame me, gentlemen. I had no intention of scaring the life out of poor Erthor. I only came to heal him. But he immediately jumped to wild conclusions and decided I was some sort of enemy and tried to kill me." Aslan's voice was filled with laughter. The Elves didn't respond.

Aslan chuckled. The three Elves were staring at the Lion with their mouths open. 

"Did he really try to kill you?" Peter asked, shaking his head.

Aslan chuckled again. "He did. I think our little friend thought he was capable of strangling me, and tried to do just that."

One of the Elves came out of his trance. "That was not a scream of surprise, and it was very odd. Erthor does not startle so easily."

"Erthor has never been face to face with his Creator before," Aslan said quietly. "But you are right, he did not cry out in surprise. He cried out in pain when his body told him trying to strangle me was too much for it. I told you, I came to heal him. But he was desperate to kill me before I'd had the chance."

Aslan leaned over Erthor then, breathing out warm breath onto his injured legs. Erthor's face lost its pained expression. His forehead smoothed where there had been wrinkles a moment before and a peaceful smile touched his lips. As Peter watched, the Elf's legs almost seemed to straighten. It was a slight movement, and perhaps he had imagined it.

"There now."

"Was our healing not going to work?" the braver of the three healers, the one with black hair, asked.

"Oh it would have worked. It was simply slower than I wanted it to be." Aslan turned to look at them each in turn, his eyes full of gentleness and caring. "You are doing very well with the gifts I have given you." 

He then turned to Peter. "Fear not, Peter Wolf's Bane. You sister will be well."

And then in a flash of gold, the Lion disappeared.

The Elves turned to each other. "Was that...?" "But it couldn't have been, surely?" "But who else could it have been?"

Peter leaned against the door-frame, trying not to smile. "Yes, that was Aslan. Or...whatever it is you call him here."

"Iluvatar," the black haired healer supplied.

"Right. Him. Anyway, since no one is in any danger and there doesn't seem to be any problems here, I am going back to bed. Er...back to Lucy's room."

Peter left the Elves to their bewilderment and returned to Lucy's bedside, seating himself beside Edmund. 

"Well?"

"Aslan showed up."

"I heard him. And Erthor?"

"Who?"

"The wounded Elf, Peter. Seriously, do ever pay attention?"

"Not when my sister is at death's door, no."

Edmund sighed. But Peter suddenly smiled. "There's no need to worry though. Aslan said she'll be fine."

Edmund's head fell forward til his forehead rested on his knees which he had drawn up to his chest. "Oh good. I was going to die otherwise."

"That would have been a bit drastic," Eustace said from across the room.

Edmund looked up. "I don't think it would have been, Eustace. We couldn't get on without Lucy."

Erthor, lying peacefully in the dream-like state that Elves called sleep could not have agreed more. If he'd been awake and aware enough to agree, that is.


End file.
